


la blancheur du beau

by orphan_account



Series: était amoureux [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Fluff and Angst, M/M, References to Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-09
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:57:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/836144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire stops Jehan from making a terrible mistake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	la blancheur du beau

Jehan leant back, the opium pipe in his hand long since abandoned, and sighed. Grantaire, lying sprawled on the couch opposite, raised an eyebrow.

“Has melancholia visited you this afternoon, Prouvaire? You seem quite subdued.”

“R, much as I appreciate your concern, I would be happier to lay here until I waste away as did Echo than to discuss my ill humour.” He closed his eyes against the concern that crept into Grantaire’s gaze.

This did not stop Grantaire from persisting in his enquiry. “Sorrow within this establishment is strictly prohibited – in fact one might even suppose it to be contrary to the aims of morphia.”

“You are an ingrate, Grantaire. Corneille once submitted that “We never taste a perfect joy; our happiest successes are mixed with sadness,” and I cannot say I disagree.”

“If we are to converse in quotation this afternoon, allow me to counter: “Self-love is the source of all our other loves.” Corneille is not the fount of immortal truth.” Grantaire had shifted his gaze to the ever-present wine bottle by his side, contemplative.

“I grant you that, however begrudgingly.” It was unusual for Jehan to be this close-lipped on any matter.

“Did he not also say that “One often calms one’s grief by recounting it.” If your hero so speaks, why should we deny him?” Grantaire’s smile was one of self-satisfaction.

Jehan glared at him, but knew this argument was lost. “Fine, if you insist on goading me into a confession – Combeferre and I have quarrelled.”

Grantaire’s expression became one of incomprehension. “I would not have thought Combeferre capable of quarrelling with you – he seems quite besotted.”

“That was the reason for our argument.” Jehan lamented the loss of a vase to surprise, and of Combeferre to his hasty response.

The floorboards squeaked where Grantaire leapt up, suddenly earnest. “Surely not! Such dramatics from the gentlest among us. Although I suppose to call either of you gentle is like calling a siren beautiful. A pretty lie concealed by distance.”

“I will happily black your eye if you ever call me a siren again, Grantaire. I am feeling quite wretched.” He swooned, one hand flung across his eyes.

Grantaire heaved him upright. “You claim to be undramatic, but you tend towards the needlessly poetic at the very least. Talk to him, assuming you can do so without entrenching yourself further into enmity, and leave the truly destitute here to smoke.” With this, he pulled Jehan out and onto the cobblestones of Paris. “The Musain is not far from here, and I am sure Combeferre will seek counsel from our fearless leader, no matter how terrible his advice may be.”

He turned on his heel and re-entered the den, leaving Jehan perplexed on the corner. Almost by default, he began the long walk to the Musain, whistling absent-mindedly.

The Musain loomed large before him in what seemed like moments, but was in truth closer to half an hour. Jehan paused outside the heavy wooden door, possibly the only barrier between himself and Combeferre, and went to pick flowers.

There was, to his surprise, a rue plant in the window box he had found. He smiled and, using a handkerchief to protect his hand, picked a flower and threaded it through his lapel.

Voices drifted through the still August air, in place of the breeze that was so desperately desired.

“I am afraid that in the course of this- this dalliance, I had become somewhat more enamoured of Prouvaire than I had anticipated. The sentiment, on its expression, was not favourably received.”

Jehan was spurred into further action by these words, the realisation that he was in the wrong this time pushing him forward, and he found himself stood opposite the Café, hand tapping nervously against his thigh.

The mention of the opium den made Jehan wince, but the moment Combeferre spotted him was somewhat worse. He barely stopped himself from running, only Grantaire’s words keeping him in place.

The door of the Musain made a distinct creaking sound when opened, the old wood protesting at its poor treatment.

Combeferre approached Jehan with a confident step, which Jehan was glad of. One of them needed confidence for this. “Good day, Jehan. May I ask what brings you here with regret in your lapel?”

Jehan smiled, feeling a little unwell. “An apology I am obliged to make to someone I have wronged. A medical student, with wire spectacles and excellent legs. Perhaps you have seen him?”

“I will be sure to inform you if I see anyone fitting such a specific description. An apology from such a man would surely not go unheeded.” Combeferre seemed amused, which released some of the apprehension from Jehan’s mind.

“I have been an unmitigated ass,” he said, blinded momentarily by the sunlight glancing off of Combeferre’s spectacles. “The man, whom I much admire, confessed a depth of feeling I was not expecting to receive, and my reaction was unconscionable.”

Combeferre seemed shocked, and his hand came to rest on Jehan’s arm. He smiled, more brightly.

“Tut tut, Combeferre,” he said, “Even you, having disdained education in law, should know that sodomy is not criminal in these enlightened times. I should hope your books have not kept you so enthralled that your knowledge of Patria has diminished.”

Jehan found himself pulled into a nearby alley, Combeferre’s voice lost for a moment in his surprise.

Whatever had been said, Jehan supposed it must have been positive. “I should hope that you would be willing to risk a good deal in exchange for my lips on your skin. I have been told they are wondrous indeed.”

“That will be quite possible, I should imagine. I do hope this mysterious, well limbed man is not the jealous type.” They were barely an inch apart from each other, now, their breathing unified.

Abruptly, Jehan found himself laughing. The situation seemed, from this vantage point, altogether ridiculous. He pulled on Combeferre’s waistcoat and kissed him.

**Author's Note:**

> a third part for the anon prompts!! betaed once again by helena, who is wonderful


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